


i’ll be brave (by the time you wake)

by rainny_days



Series: give me your heart, i'll give you mine [2]
Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: Demisexuality, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Hopeful Ending, Intimacy, Love Confessions, M/M, Magical Realism, Mutual Pining, Oblivious, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Romantic Friendship, Slow Burn, basically 5k of nino grappling with the mortifying ordeal of being known, demi!ohno, kind of, or as slow as 5k can be, runs parallel to 'your heart to keep', which is how i always write him btw, while ohno struggles to understand himself and his feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-19 17:55:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19361782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainny_days/pseuds/rainny_days
Summary: Ohno can't read the glow of his heart. Nino doesn't want to. Neither of them think they can fall in love.That doesn't stop it from happening anyways.





	i’ll be brave (by the time you wake)

**Author's Note:**

> title from mitski's 'i will', which pretty much tells you all you need to know about this fic.

_Q: Do you fall in love at first sight?_

_Nino: I do. I do everyday._

_-_ _MYOJO JUNE 09 - ARASHI Q &A TALK ABOUT LOVE INTERVIEW - DESTINATION TRUTH_

* * *

Nino starts leaving his heart behind at age eight, because there were people who needed it more than him.

His parents were fighting again, their voices hard and cruel behind thin paper doors. Nino wishes that they would stop, because it’s loud and he has school tomorrow, but he knows that they won't. They never do. He tries not to listen to the words, tries to make it all white static, but their sharp words still manage to filter through the buzz, reminding him of what their home has become. Reminding him of what love is.

There’s a slam, and Nino slowly crawls out of bed, tip-toeing to his door and sliding it open carefully. He can hear sobs, and he screws up his courage before walking to the living room, taking in the sight of his mother, shoulders bowed, defeated.

“Kaa-chan,” he says, helpless, and she looks up at him, eyes bright red. He runs into her arms, and hears his sister’s footsteps follow behind.

The three of them stay like that for a while, curled into one another, before his mom shakes her head, nudges them away with a tired, grateful smile. “Thank you, you two, but you both have school tomorrow, and I don't want you to fall asleep in class.”

As she ushers them to bed, Nino’s eyes catches on her heart-box, the dimness of the light inside, the way that only half of it was glowing, cutting off in jagged edges. It looks painful.

The next day, when he hugs her, he slips his own locket into the back of her pocket, his pale yellow light invisible through the flimsy bronze locket and the thick denim of her jeans, and runs off before she notices anything strange. He hopes that his heart is a good enough replacement, doesn't worry about its absence around his neck. After all, it’s not like he wanted to give it away, or anything.

* * *

Ohno wears his heart on his sleeve- or rather, outside of his clothing. People occasionally try to tell him that it was improper, but he’d never understood why it was socially expected for people to hide their hearts, because they were so _pretty_ , all bright colors in shiny lockets, and Ohno never remembers to hide his heart-box when it falls outside his shirt anyways, so why tuck it in in the first place? They give up asking, after a few years, and Ohno wears his heart in full view without concern. It's a steady, sluggish thing, his heart, the soft blue light so still that the people who see it often become concerned about his emotional well-being. He wonders about it himself, for a while, and asks his family if they thought he was strange. His dad just shrugs and says that it’ll come with time. His sister calls him a freak, but Ohno doesn't take it to heart, because he’s seen her glare at anyone else who dares to comment. His mom tells him that his heart is just waiting for the right person.

Ohno’s not too sure, himself, of why his heart doesn't ever seem to quicken or startle or flutter the way that other people say theirs do. The way it seems like it’s supposed to be. He first thinks that maybe his heart just isn't meant for anyone but him, and it’s not a worrying thought, just a vague possibility that hangs in the back of his mind. Ohno isn't sure about giving his heart away, but he thinks that it would be nice to have someone who would understand him, the way that people who’ve exchanged hearts seem to effortlessly understand each other in the movies that his sister likes to watch.

Sometimes his heart does flutter, but never at people. His heart stumbles when his mom takes him to his first art class, when he first starts dancing. Whenever it happens, he watches the other kids in the room, the skips and stutters of their heart-boxes, and wonders if this was anything like being in love. He never manages to ask, but it lingers in the periphery of his mind.

At nine, he doesn't worry too hard about that kind of stuff, but he does spare a thought or two wondering about what kind of person would make his heart pick up its pace, the way that so little seems to do.

* * *

By the time Nino turns thirteen, his heart had a permanent place on the shelf of his closet. By then, his mother didn't need his heart anymore, the ragged tear of her and his father’s broken relationship beginning to heal after he left, leaving a healed, if painful-looking, scar. He still doesn't bother to bring his heart anywhere, though, because it just- doesn't seem worth the trouble. He doesn't want to be hurt the way his mom was, permanently, all because his heart gave itself to the wrong person without his input or permission. His sister still carries her heart around with her, though, because she’s always been braver than him. Braver and more hopeful and confident that she’ll find someone better than their father.

Nino grows up with curious, prodding questions, both from curious peers and concerned adults, and he learns to deflect, to retort, to twist conversations around and around until they either forget they’ve asked or don't want to bother anymore. It isn't anyone’s business, what he does with his heart.

That is, until he joins Johnny’s.

He knows when he sees his mom’s solemn face, the quiet but insistent way she showed him the acceptance papers and the paper bill she was offering to him, that she was doing this because she wanted him to have a better life, and she didn't think that could happen if his world was still this one: the small, shadowed streets where he’d grown up, grown around, grown in. He understands, which is why he takes her money and goes to the auditions. But, at the same time, he knows that Johnny’s isn't what he’d ever envisioned - or wanted - his life to be.

People in the company were _more_ curious about his lack of a heart-box, and more savvy to his attempts to throw them off, especially the interviewers. Nino adapts, learns to turn interviews on their heads, gives them just enough so that they’re confused. After a while, it becomes kind of a game, and that’s fine. He’s in a group with Aiba, Toma and Jun, and they don't ask after a while either, which is also fine. He makes friends, finds a _best_ friend in Sakurai Sho, who frowns at his lack of heart-box but is actually socialized enough not to ask, and that’s actually _fun_. People get used to it, though there are rumors that Nino doesn’t actually have a heart (he gleefully perpetuates these, because those are fun too). Things begin to settle down, smoothing out into a comfortable routine.

And then, there’s Kyoto.

* * *

Ohno doesn't really pay attention to the other Juniors at first, more focused on his own dancing and his own, small group of friends than the small swarm of boys that arrive to join them, their hearts like a small school of multicolored fireflies at their necks, soft and blurred under the white t-shirts they wear. He’s never been good at socializing, and he doesn't really see the need to find camaraderie with people who’ll be leaving soon enough.

And then he meets Nino.

The first time he sees Nino is nothing consequential, just another introduction in a sea of shy juniors. Even then, though, Nino still stood out, his introduction shy but tinged with _something_ that made Ohno pay attention where he hadn't before, made him glance at the other boy, taking in pale, spindly limbs, hazel eyes, and a small mole.

 _Cute_ , he’d thought, and then: _interesting_ , which was a far higher compliment. He notices that Nino doesn’t have a heart-box- a fact that others have also noticed, if their stares are any indication. Nino doesn’t seem bothered, though, just makes a sharp quip about the boy that introduced himself before him, eliciting laughter from the room that sweeps away any awkwardness. There was something about the way he speaks, the sharp edges in his words belying his small stature, the nervousness underneath them; evident in a curl in his back that nobody but Ohno seems to notice, that strikes Ohno oddly. Fascinates him. For a second, Nino’s gaze meets his, whisky-gold and bright with some undefinable emotion, and Ohno feels a sharp, furious beat from somewhere near his sternum. His fingers twitch. His heart-box blinks.

He really, really wants to draw this boy.

* * *

Nino is used to falling for people- does it all the time, really, his eyes catching on the quirk of a smile, the exact cadence of a word falling from someone’s mouth, a half-conscious fidget, a million other tiny details and movements that probably meant nothing to most people, but seemed strangely arresting to him.

And Ohno Satoshi is _definitely_ arresting, graceful and _settled._  Confident, in a way that few teenagers are. There’s something about him that calms Nino down, too, like taking that first deep breath after running a marathon. He’s not delusional enough to pretend that he doesn't have a crush on Ohno, but it’s different, somehow, from any crush he’s ever had before. Nobody has never softened him like this, before; no crush has ever slowed him down, made him want to take his time.

He can't imagine what his heart-box is doing right now, if anything. Would it burn, stuttering and blinking, the way that Jun’s does whenever he catches a glimpse of Sho, the way that he tries so hard to hide? He can't imagine that this slow smolder translating into _that_ , but he’s equally unable to imagine Ohno _dimming_ his heart in any way, the only thing that he could think of to reflect the effect the older boy has on him. He tries not to dwell on it too much, because it’s not supposed to matter, not to him. Who knows if his heart is even moving, this far from the person it’s connected to?

Ohno never asks about his heart, the way that others do. He never even looks at him with a question in his eyes, like Sho, curious but too polite to outright ask. Ohno is, as with many things, singularly unique in the way that he treats Nino’s...condition. Reacting to his apparent lack of a heart with utter obliviousness, as if there was absolutely nothing strange about _not_ having a small light against your collarbone. In fact, Ohno barely seems to register his own heart-box, letting it hang outside of his thin shirts and thinner tank tops while others tuck theirs into their collars with careful hands. It doesn't seem to be any kind of declaration, just the easy carelessness of someone who honestly does not care about people seeing his heart. Nino finds himself fascinated by it, the way he’s fascinated about everything that makes up Ohno Satoshi.

The more Nino lets himself be drawn to the older boy, the more he allows himself to show that fascination- albeit in overdramatic, joking ways. Ohno’s heart becomes kind of like his ass, in that Nino takes to pushing the limits of social acceptability with the way that he treats both, in that both become somewhat legendary in the Johnny’s stream of inside jokes. It becomes normal when Nino sits beside Ohno and touches his butt, leans his head on his shoulder, slips his hand up from Ohno’s butt to hip to waist, inching up until Nino’s half-sitting in Ohno’s lap, fingers twisting around the chain of Ohno’s heart-box, fiddling with the small locket absentmindedly, watching the way that the light of the heart glows, like the glitter-blue of the sea at night, beautiful and more calming than any drug.

(Nino resolutely Does Not Think about how it sometimes stutters, quick as a flash, when Nino presses close. After all, they mostly met after rehearsals, and dancing is one of the few things that quickens Ohno’s heart to something other than its normal, steady glow.)

While the other boys had seemed to be waiting for Ohno to tell Nino off for touching _someone else’s heart-box_ without permission, Ohno is, bewilderingly, far more bothered by Nino’s hand on his ass. Quickly, though, he adapts to the touches, reacting to the hand on his ass the same smile he uses in reply to any greeting.

Ohno Satoshi, Nino realises with mounting internal glee, is certifiably _weird_.

* * *

Ninomiya Kazunari, Ohno realises with uncharacteristically quick understanding, is incredibly bizarre.

It’s not any one thing about the younger boy that tips him off to this conclusion, so much as it’s the slow accumulation of strange things that Nino does without a second’s thought, that makes Ohno realise that it’s not just some quirk of his imagination. Nino feels a little like a fairytale creature, sometimes, doing the strangest things so casually that you wonder if there maybe isn't something wrong with _you_ , for feeling off-kilter about it.

Ohno first feels it in the way that Nino approaches him, with an easy familiarity that made Ohno fall into conversation with him without noticing how unfamiliar they were supposed to be with each other. “Ohno-san,” Nino had said the first time they spoke, voice like a secret as he slid into a seat beside Ohno without so much as a by-your-leave. “You should stop zoning out while you eat, or someone will draw something on your face. Probably me.”

Ohno had paused. Swallowed his mouthful of rice. “I don’t mind,” he said. “I like drawing.”

Nino had laughed, then, letting Ohno see the pale stretch of his un-accessorized neck, and looked at him like he passed some kind of test. “ _You’re_ not the one who gets to draw in this scenario, silly,” he said, and Ohno felt like they’d known each other all their lives.

Ohno had found himself receiving a text from Nino that night, and only realising after an entire late-night text conversation that he couldn’t remember when he gave Nino his number. Ohno is confused, but decides to go with it, getting used to Nino’s easy friendship the same way he gets used to the way that Nino constantly invades his personal space, wearing a sly, sweet smile, so quietly pleased that Ohno can't bring himself to pull away, despite his awkwardness with touch. After a few days, it feels weird when Nino _isn’t_ touching him, and Ohno finds himself brushing fingers and knees with him like he’s never been touch-averse in his life.

He gets used to the lack of glow at Nino’s collarbones, too. He knows that Nino doesn't like talking about it, because he hears Nino deflecting with masterful grace whenever someone so much as steps a toe into the vicinity of the question, so he doesn't ask. He’s not all that curious about it, actually, knowing that Nino must have some reason for doing it, and not needing any more justification than that. Sometimes he’ll hear whispered jokes about Nino not having a heart, and that’s more upsetting, because Nino is small and cute and clever and affectionate and _kind_ , even when he pretends so hard not to be, and probably the furthest from heartless that anyone can be.

Ohno sometimes does wonder what Nino’s heart looks like, though only when he’s safely alone in his bunk at night, cupping his own forget-me-not-blue heart in his hands and watching it glow. He wonders if Nino’s heart glows like this, steady and surprisingly cool, or if it resembles any of the hearts he’s seen before. Maybe Nino’s heart echoes his friends - the bright green hearth-fire of the bright, smiling boy he tussles with constantly; the purple hot-coal of the boy who looks far too small for such an intense heart; the flash-fire heat of Sakurai-kun’s red heart, betraying his temper even as he smiles fondly at his littler friend.

He watches his heart flare at the thought, soft blue flashing into a bonfire for a moment before it settles, and thinks: ‘ _I really, really like this boy’._

* * *

Kyoto ends, and Nino feels like he’s leaving something in limbo when he waves goodbye to Ohno, drags out a promise from him to call - _‘every day!’ -_ and to reply to his messages. He hugs Ohno one last time, trying to commit the shape of him to muscle memory, and feels the shape of Ohno’s heart-box against his chest, warm and steady as a constellation.

It’s the memory of that warmth that has him dusting off the box that his heart-box has been in for nearly half his life, looking warily at the cheap wood and brittle metal lock. He hasn’t so much as glanced at the box in almost a year, only taking it out when his mom reminds him in a sharp voice to _take care of his heart, honestly_ . He doesn't remember the last time he’d _wanted_ to see his own heart.

Not giving himself the time to back out, Nino snaps the lock and flips the box open with quick, decisive movements. He pauses for a moment at the sight of his heart nestled unobtrusively in the pale wooden interior, a plain silver locket surrounding a faint golden glow.

It’s so... _small_.

Nino knows, logically, that this is because of the box he’s kept his heart in for years, not allowing it to follow him around, interact with the people around him, flourish the way that other people his age’s hearts do. He knows that it’s silly to think that his heart, after years of neglect at his own hands, would suffer no side effects. He’s seen his heart before, after all, hadn’t expected it to be the bright, big thing that Aiba’s is, all effortless affection and brilliant light undercutting his shy demeanor, or even Jun’s, his smaller flame flickering and sparking with the strength of his ambition (and, more subtly, around a certain senpai).

Even so, the tiny yellow light in the musky wooden box seems far smaller than he remembers, far smaller than any he’s seen before. There’s some part of him that whispers _‘heartless’_ , the word that was once no more than a joke to him somehow sharper. Colder.

Ohno calls him the next morning, and Nino picks up the phone with a polite ‘Ohno-san?’

If Ohno notices the thread of quiet resignation in his voice, he’s kind enough not to mention it.

* * *

It didn't take long for Ohno to realize that there was something wrong about Nino.

At first, he’d thought it was just the new medium of communication making things strange; the fact that Nino’s boyish, tinny voice was rendered static over wires and distance making Ohno feel unsettled, the fact that their conversations had to now necessarily involve spoken language rather than their usual mix of in-jokes and body language making things strange between them. It didn't take long, however, for him to realize that there was far more wrong than that.

The lack of touch doesn't explain the fragility of Nino’s voice, the careful, polite thread that weaves through his every word. It doesn't explain the way that he sometimes seems to stop himself when that familiar fondness creeps back into his tone. The way he reconsiders, modulates his words.

It doesn't explain the fact that he’s calling him _Ohno-san._

The first time Nino says it, not a hint of irony in his voice, Ohno actually looks around to see if someone in his family had spoken, somehow. If Nino had been talking to them instead. It was impossible, of course, not in the least because he was still in Kyoto, far away from any semblance of home. But that left the strangeness of his form of address unanswered, and even as Ohno replied (like usual, unsure if this was something truly strange or just another twist in their relationship that he’d missed, one that _wasn't_ so pleasant, this time), he couldn’t help but pay closer attention to the cadences of Nino’s voice. The careful, flat quality of it.

He’d only realized the true extent of it later, when Nino _kept calling him that_ , still painfully polite in the way that he talks to the senpai that he hadn’t decided to personally adopt. He still jokes with Ohno, still makes cheerful witticisms and lobs harmless insults and acts like the Nino he’s used to, but there’s less _heart_ in it, somehow. Less intimacy. Ohno wants to ask if he’s done something wrong, if Nino is angry at him for some infraction that he unwittingly caused, but the words always jam inside his throat before they slip out, and Nino’s too slippery, too quick in his words for Ohno to gather the words he needs. Or maybe he’s just too weak, too afraid that Nino has just decided that Ohno wasn’t worth the effort.

But then there are _those_ times, when Nino slips and sounds, just for a moment, like he’s looking at Ohno from the edge of an infinite abyss, aching to but unable to cross over to him. It’s those times that gives Ohno pause, makes him wonder what, exactly, he’s missing.

He doesn’t ask, though. If there’s anything that Ohno has learned from Johnny’s, from Kyoto, from Nino, it’s that he’s never quite brave enough for the important things.

* * *

Nino lives in the blurry grey area between pushing Ohno away and refusing to let go for the next few months, wondering with increasing hysteria if this is what people meant when they describe someone as _‘hot and cold’_. It gets even worse, though, when he gets a phone call at midnight from Sho, babbling about a heart demanding to be let into his room.

After comforting Sho the best he can - which is to say, making fun of him relentlessly and making a note to do the same with Jun (of course it’s Jun, he’s not _stupid_ ) the next day - he hangs up the phone and looks at it for a few seconds, strangely stung by the conversation. He isn't sure why, except he is, because some part of him is absurdly jealous of Jun’s stupid, reckless heart, flying all the way to Sho without caring about the consequences. The fact that he _can_ , the fact that his emotions are strong enough to propel his actions. Unintentionally, probably, because Jun didn't seem like the type to do something as insane as this _voluntarily,_ he wasn't _Aiba_ , but that he _could_. That he _did_.

Nino had accepted that he was a coward, but he’d never felt it quite so starkly before.

The next day he left for practice expecting to tease Jun about his wayward heart, to slyly insinuate his way into playing wingman to his friend's hapless affections.

He didn't expect the lengths Jun would go to, to get his heart back.

He couldn't understand it at first, when he saw the mob of juniors and weaved his way through to see Jun pulling at his heart, heartbreak and furious fear clear on his face. Why would he break his own heart, when it was bright and fervent and was capable of finding and  _taking_ what it wanted? Why would he rip apart his chance before it even began?

Nino watches as Jun breaks his own heart, and is strangely, inexplicably furious at how ridiculous he's being. He swallows the wave of emotion rising up his throat and forces himself to deal with the situation in front of him instead, shoving Sho’s bag at him and warning him to be careful with it. With Jun. No matter how ridiculous he’s being, he’s still a friend, and no matter how much Nino loves Sho, he’s starkly aware that Jun’s feelings don’t inform Sho’s, that it’s unfair to expect anything of him. That he could easily break Jun more than he’s broken himself. Nino doesn’t tell him to take care of Jun because he wants him to return his feelings, he tells him so that he knows to be gentle no matter what his answer is.

He’s not sure if his message gets through - Sho’s smart, but he not as good as deciphering Nino as Ohno, or even Aiba, is. He makes up for it in determination, though, and Nino knows as he watches him run off that he’d be kind regardless of Nino’s warning. It gives him enough peace of mind to turn back around and shoot off some pithy comment to the other boys, herding them to practice and already making plans to staunch the inevitable flow of gossip as well as he could. Sho and Jun were both _his_ , and he would burn down the entertainment industry itself before he let anyone hurt them.

It doesn't come to that, in the end. Nino waits in front of the door, not caring about missing practice, until he sees Aiba sloping back, his heart bright and fluttering beside him. Nino feels himself untense slightly at the expression on the taller boy’s face.

“Are they okay?”

“Aw, you _do_ care!”

Nino levels him with a Look, and Aiba smiles back, sweet and utterly without the shyness that plagues him on camera or around strangers. “They’re okay,” he confirms. “Or- I think? I didn’t want to eavesdrop-”

“Since _when_?”

“Okay, I didn’t want to eavesdrop _much_ . They were having a Moment! It was cute! I left when Jun’s heart, uh-” Aiba makes some kind of motion with his hands that Nino can't begin to decipher. At Nino’s arch look, he sighs dramatically. “When it _fixed_ itself, I guess.”

Everything goes very still, for just a moment.

“Fixed itself?” Nino hears himself say from a distance. "Just like that?"

Aiba looks at him, always more perceptive than people give him credit for. His heart floats closer to Nino, dancing at the edges of his vision. “Yeah,” the taller boy says. “When Sho gave him his heart back, it kind of- melded? Fixed itself. Just like that.” at the sight of whatever expression is on Nino’s face - a humiliating one, he’s sure - he moves closer, so that they’re toe-to-toe, and wraps Nino in a completely unwarranted and unwanted hug. “Hearts are more resilient than you give them credit for, you know,” Aiba tells him, voice lovely and soft and muffled in his hair. His heart is warm at the juncture of Nino’s neck and spine, tingly and a little ticklish, and Nino is suddenly aware of how much he loves this boy - how _in_ love he is, even. A little.

“You’re too nice for your own good,” he says instead. “And you have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I’m just nice enough,” Aiba sing-songs. “And you should listen to me, because I’m very smart!”

“Compared to what, a goldfish?” Nino grumbles, trying half-heartedly to push out of the embrace. Aiba tightens his grip, and begins humming “Grumpy, grumpy, grumpy-boy,” as he gently sways them from side to side. Nino suffers through a few iterations of this before he hears the distant sound of approaching footsteps, and manages to pull away to see Sho and Jun walking towards them, hand in hand, their hearts floating between them, clustered together and bright as if nothing had ever been broken or lost.

He grins. “Looks like _somebody_ worked things out,” he says teasingly, and shoves all of his Feelings into a corner of his mind to examine later as Jun turns scarlet and Sho starts spluttering beautifully.

 _Hearts are more resilient than you give them credit for_ , he thinks, and his smile grows a little wider.

* * *

They’re on a beach in Hawaii when Nino brings it up.

“Oh-chan,” he says, as if there had never been a gulf between them at all. His words are a whisper between almost suffocatingly warm sheets, quiet in the room that Nino had bullied Sho (who didn’t seem all that difficult to persuade) into letting them share. He had tucked himself in the same bed as Ohno as if there had never been any doubt about it, pulling the blanket over the two of them so that the only illumination they had was the soft glow of Ohno’s heart, laid innocuously on the duvet between them, but still kept a careful arm’s length between them. The contradiction is so _Nino_ that it made Ohno homesick, somehow. “Haven't you ever wondered about my heart?”

Ohno considers his question carefully, not wanting to drive Nino away with the wrong words. He doesn't know why he's bringing it up now, on the cusp of whatever they were being pushed into- on the cusp of  _Arashi_ , whatever that meant. He could never predict Nino’s moods, what their relationship would be at any given time. It would be frustrating, if he had ever been brave enough to ask himself what they actually were to each other. As it is, he can’t begrudge Nino for treading over lines that neither of them had ever drawn. “I never thought about it,” he finally whispers in response, honest.

Nino just nods. “I don’t usually think about it either,” he says, wry humor touching his words. “Ah, I do have one, you know.”

“Of course you do,” Ohno returns immediately, frowning. Nino shrugs, shifting the blankets a little higher above their heads. It’s inching close to stifling, but Ohno’s too afraid to move, in case it stops Nino from saying whatever he’s trying so hard to say.

“I wouldn’t blame you for not thinking I did, not with-” he struggles for a moment. “The way I am.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Ohno says truthfully. “Did someone say something? Because I can-”

“Intimidate them with your overwhelming stature?” Nino asks sweetly, laughing as Ohno pinches him in retaliation. His eyes are bright in the soft blue light, and Ohno smiles helplessly in the face of them, wishing for something he doesn't know how to put into words. “But no, nobody said anything. Not more than usual, anyways.” the smile falls from his face, replaced with something vulnerable and deeply afraid. “I just- I wanted to tell you something. About my heart.”

Ohno waits in the eternities that follow, with patience that he’s quietly grateful came naturally to him.

“I don’t- I _have_ a heart, but it’s not. Right.” Nino’s cadence is strange, an eclectic mix of too-fast words and stuttery pauses. “I don’t think I can give it to anyone. Yet. It wouldn't be fair.”

Something in Ohno’s sternum catches at the _yet_.

“Nino, what-”

“Shut up,” Nino hisses, sounding so churlish that Ohno can't help the snort that escapes him, lightening the tension between them. “I need to finish or I’m never gonna be able to say it again, okay? I thought- I didn't know if we would ever see each other again properly, and then _this_ happened, and it's horrible, and there are  _boats_ , but at least we could  _talk_ again. In person, I mean. So just, let me talk.”

Ohno waits expectantly, smiling innocently as Nino obviously waits for an answer, glaring when he doesn’t get one.

“ _Ugh_ , you weren't so- _you_ , when I imagined this,” he mutters, and Ohno wonders how many times he had practiced for this, how worried he was. Ohno tilts a little closer to Nino, inviting. Nino gives a small, almost reluctant, sound of contentment, knocking their foreheads together as he speaks again, words almost imperceptible between them.

“I can’t give anything to you yet,” he whispers. “But I want to.”

Ohno knew the words were coming, but that doesn’t stop him from being bowled over by the force of them. The strength of this boy, picking his way through the field of every fear that the both of them had, presenting the scattered petals in the space between them. Bridging them. His heart flares, obvious in the darkness, and Ohno swallows his wave of fear that it evokes in him. The least he can do is return something of Nino’s vulnerabilities with a little of his own.

“My- I can-” he struggles to find the words, but he’s cut off with a small hand, a little damp, over his lips. His heart flickers a little brighter, and he can momentarily catch Nino’s blush in the light.

“I don’t want you to.” Nino tells him. “Not now. I just wanted to tell you- it’s not, it’s not an obligation for you, or anything. I just thought you should know, if one day-” he hesitates. Removes his hand.

“One day,” Ohno repeats, feeling the texture of the words on the roof of his mouth, the shape of them like a promise. “That’s- okay.”

He can feel Nino’s sudden stillness, the startled pause of his gaze. “It is?” before Ohno can reply, he rushes forward, slightly louder. “It might be a while, you know! It might be a _long_ time- years!  _Decades_ , even!”

“It’s okay,” Ohno repeats, grinning as Nino gives him an annoyed look. He fumbles out his hand, takes Nino’s fingers and entwines them with his own. Tugging him in until they’re flush, blue glow faint between their shirts. He imagines another light there, someday. It’s a good thought.

“I can wait,” he says, and it's a promise of his own.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm sorry


End file.
